Because I couldn’t ignore how his hand felt on top of mine. How I could feel his breath against the side of my ear. My eyes briefly closed from the way his arm was wrapped over me.
Protective domination—that was what this was.
What I needed.
What I wanted.
“Let me see this knife.”
His demand caused my eyes to flick open. He lifted his hand off mine, waiting for me to give it to him.
When I did, he studied the teeth, running his thumb over the side of the steel. “This isn’t one of mine.”
“No. It’s mine. I’ve been keeping it in my locker here, so I can practice.”
“When was the last time you had it sharpened?”
“Never.”
His arm stretched over me and grabbed the steak. His other arm went around the opposite side of me, and he sliced the edge of the thick beef while I was caged within him. “Look how dull it is. It barely cuts.” He dropped his arms, leaving the knife on the cutting board.
But more importantly, his arms were no longer hugging me, my body free of his.
When I turned around to face him, he took in my eyes, andin that brief couple of seconds, he reignited another round of tingles.
“Where did you get that knife?”
I searched for my voice, my breath, my memory to remind me what he’d even asked. “It was a hand-me-down from the chef at the assisted living facility. He gave me two—this one and an eight-inch chef knife.”
“Is the chef knife just as dull?”
I shrugged. “Probably.”
“You need to get them sharpened to be able to practice properly.” His stare dipped down my face, stalling on my lips, and he took a step back. “Clean up here. It’s time to go.”
When he began to walk away, I said, “Walker, can I ask you a question?”
He looked at me from over his shoulder, but didn’t take another step. “What?”
“What’s it like, having James Ryne-Young eat in your restaurant? And specifically ask for you to cook her food? And devour every bite of what you made her?” I shoved my hands into my apron. “What does that feel like?”
He huffed. “You could have asked me anything … and that’s what you want to know?”
I gave him a soft smile. “You do know who she is, right? I know you’re not a movie person, so I wasn’t sure. And I only say that because when I joined you to deliver all the plates of scallops, you seemed really unaffected by her—and all the other A-listers in your private dining room.”
“They’re just people, Alivia.”
“Yeah, I get that. Or maybe I don’t get it. I don’t know … I’d never met anyone famous.” I attempted another breath. “Until you.”
He finally turned toward me, his arms crossing. “You’re going to see a lot of celebrities in this restaurant. I’m sureRachel told you that when she hired you. Don’t ever lose your cool. No signatures, pictures—nothing like that. Treat them like you would treat every other customer.”
“Of course.” I nodded. “Yes.” He began to walk away again, and I added, “But, Walker, you didn’t answer my question.”
When he stopped, he glared at me. “You’ve got balls.”
I laughed even though his words were beyond serious. “You love to call me out when I don’t answer you. It’s only fair that I do the same to you.”
“There’s nothing fair in this fucking kitchen.” He bared his teeth. “It’s mine.”
